Self-Fulfilling Prophecy
by psearah
Summary: Flo Harmon moves into the Murder house with her parents during a crucial time in her life. Will she be able to cope with her illness and the possibility of recovery in a place like this?


I had decided to take the third story bedroom, closest to the stair case. Where I had first caught a glimpse of the blonde boy, the grunge, as I had started to affectionately call him. I couldn't remove him or his words out of my mind. He was a permanent fixture in the closet of my sub conscious and never seemed to leave.

I allowed my head to rest on my older sister's shoulder, relaxing into her apprehensive frame and closing my eyes. I welcomed times like these; relaxed moments where Mum and Dad could forget about college kids and extra marital affairs and Violet could be content with silence, for a time. Already, it had been a long drive, and a sizeable amount of time since their last quarrel. I could feel another one on the rise already. "Isn't it beautiful," Dad commented as I could feel the car get onto the Golden Gate Bridge.

Violet huffed a bit and shifted to look out the window, so I looked over to see the river below. It was so vast, so large. It's not even a river, is it? It's part of an ocean, the Atlantic? Or the Pacific? I failed middle school geography. "I need to go to the bathroom," Violet interrupted Mum's commentary of the western air quality.

Dad tried to answer her reasonably, "It's just a little bit longer. . ."

"I need to go."

I tapped her lightly on her knee. I hated it when she incited things so often; she never pays me any attention, though. "Where would you like me to pull over, sweetie - the Bay or the Pacific?"

So it is the Pacific. . .

"Thirteen hundred people have jumped off of this thing - at least that's what they think. They don't see them all and they stopped counting right before a thousand. I looked it up. Twenty six of them survived. You know what all of them said was their first thought after they stepped off?"

_Oh shit._

"Kind of how I feel about this move . . . I'm not going to like the school. San Francisco is filled with hippies and freaks and drug addicts."

"I'm glad we named you Violet instead of our second choice," Dad joked, more to Mum than anyone else in the car.

"Which was . . . ?"

"Sunshine."

We all had a good laugh at that and the moment seemed to spark some sort of normalcy. Mom and Dad have been struggling to work things out in their relationship for us, for their marriage, but I just don't see any point in dragging out the inevitable. They lost a baby, and it was horrible and then Dad went off and found some college whore for healing. I just could never bring myself to see this as something long term. Hopefully they would realize this before they had another little accident.

Pulling into the driveway of the house, I looked up into the windows and dormers of the house. It looked old, Victorian maybe. We all got of the car, and I followed Violet up the walkway after allowing Mom to retrieve Hallie from her car seat. "This is it."

I stared up nervously. It was large, probably a bit of overkill for such a small family like ours. And it had this aura around it, an energy that reflected my own anxieties fairly clearly. I didn't know if I wanted to live here or not. "What do you think, Flo?"

I shrugged indifference, "I'm not sure yet."

Violet seemed interested, staring up at the timeworn building. She would probably end up liking it. A car door shuts, knocking me out of studying my older sister's face. A primped-up woman with short hair stalks over to us with small, anxious steps. "Hi, I'm the realtor, Marcy," She moves past Dad to unlock the door, "Sorry I'm late, traffic was just terrible."

We follow her inside, me holding up the back and the last person to see the foyer in all its glory. If I were to ever recognize house porn for what it was, today would be the day. It was gorgeous; vaulted ceilings, glass light fixtures, stained glass windows, the light filtering in giving it that kind of appeal that you would never find in a newer house of the same design. I interrupted the realtor lady for a moment, "Do you mind if I break off from the group? I'd really like to explore on my own for a minute."

Marcy looked a little worried about it, but Mom replied before she could object, "Go on, then."

I ran off and up the steps. It was exhilarating. A whole, free house that I pretty much had all to myself – until they decided to take to the second floor. On a whim, I continued onto the third. I was right in my assumptions form the outside; the house was too big for just four people. There were two extra bedrooms, a couple studies, huge basement, and bathrooms at every corner . . . Far too much for us. But, if Mum and Dad wanted to blow their money on a mansion, then who am I to argue? Not like I'm paying for any of it.

I turn around to go down the hall and something catches my eye from the other direction. I straighten the hat I stole from Violet on my head and slowly walk towards that direction. This house was supposedly on the market for a while. And houses this old and nice and not lived in sometimes aren't always not just "not lived in". Sometimes people without a home move in, or people who were there before - or were always there - feel free to move about. "Hello, is anyone there?" I call out quietly, "I won't say anything, I promise . . . and I always keep my promises."

I stopped at the end with a loud gasp as something walks in front of me. It's a boy, maybe Violet's age or older. He's tall compared to my short frame, light eyes and ruffled blonde hair. His expression is unreadable, but there's _something different about this one_. "You sure you won't say anything?"

I nodded and gulp down a bit of vomit; I hate being snuck up on. Staring at him for a moment, I clear my throat and hopefully a bit of the air with it. I stick a brave hand out to the boy, "I'm Florence Harmon."

"Tate," and he leaves my hand where it is and walks off.

I walk a little faster to catch up with him, but don't say anything. He seems off, something different, strange, weird, reminded me a little of Violet. With the throwback sweater and baggy jeans, he could fit into any nineties' grunge crowd. Maybe he did. He stops suddenly at a corner and leans against the wall, arms crossed and regarding me with a blank expression which suddenly changes to a crazed grin, "You shouldn't move here."

And then he walks off.

I'm not tempted to follow him this time, but I do stand there for a moment and think about what I've just been advised not to do. _I shouldn't live here? _Well, why not? It seems like a nice house, in a nice neighborhood in an attractive city with people and places and things to do. The perfect house, right here. Why would I not want to live in a house like this?

But, there was some sort of darkness to this place. Something attached, like a tick, only this couldn't be solved with a bit of Vaseline or peanut butter. In that way, I understood what he could have been talking about. But, I also could recognize that my mind could just be creating some kind of exciting environment for its own entertainment.

I found the others in the library, a wonderful place with wonderful, full of potential for collection. Even so, the blonde boy that I'd already forgotten the name of kept resonating in my mind, like he was whispering it in my ear. _You shouldn't move here. . ._ I shook my head and walked over to the far wall, wondering where Violet had gone off to. "Speaking of the last owners," Marcy started uneasily, "full disclosure requires me to tell you about what happened to them."

Mum made some horrific comment about them having died here, to which Marcy replies in the affirmative, "Murder suicide. I sold them the house, too. Just the sweetest couple. You never know I guess."

"So that's why it's half the price of every other house in the neighborhood," Dad rubbed his forehead and looked at Mom with a hint of doubt in his eye.

"I have a very nice painted lady not too far from here," Marcy offered, "But you're going to get a third of the house for twice the price if you go that way."

Surely a two bedroom would be fine for four people. Mom and Dad won't be having anymore kids, not after our baby brother, and I wouldn't mind sharing a room with Violet. A bed if the room was too small. . .

Violet walks in with a mischievous smirk on her face, holding a distressed Hallie. She's probably heard the entire conversation. "Where did it happen?"

"The basement."

"We'll take it."

I quickly walk over to Violet and look up at her, touching her forearm gently, "Are you sure about this place?"

"Yes."

_**You're going to die in there.**_

* * *

I walked closely with Violet through the open hallways of our new school. It was strange to think they would allow so much freedom to high school teenagers; eastern schools were closed buildings, maybe with the occasional courtyard or outdoor lunching options, but this was insane. You have to go outside to get to the next classroom? Most of the kids looked like nineteen-seventies hippie rejects, just like Violet had predicted. A group of popular girls sat on a half-wall at a corner. I tried to hide behind Violet, but they spotted us anyway. "Hey," The alpha female walked over, "Student council passed a rule against smoking in public spaces."

I stood beside Violet, trying to look a little bigger. So she could do coke, but Violet couldn't smoke? Trying to alleviate the situation, Violet drops the cigarette on the ground and stomps it out with her good-looking shoes. "What the hell is the matter with you? People sit here. They eat here."

"You don't know me. Why are you doing this?" Violet questions the girl honestly, and I allow myself a curt nod while the alpha female's posse defends her actions.

"Eat it."

I look at the chick like she's crazy. Really, eat it?

"Eat it. Or I'm going to kick the shit out of you."

The posse tries to drive the girl back and I tug on Violet's arm, "This looks bad, let's leave. Now."

The girl lashes back and grabs onto Violet's face to try and shove the fag down her throat I and everyone else watching are too shocked to really do anything. Violet handles it though and spits in the girl's face, then runs off, Porkie-Pie hat in one hand and mine in the other. We stop running after we're on the other side of the school, out of breath and laughing.

People don't understand why I could want to be around my sister so much. They meet her and realize she has lots of problems, but that's what I love about her. She's open without even really telling anyone anything. People look at her and they can tell she has issues; they don't ever know or find out what's going on in her head, but they know there's something there. I wish I could be more like that.

I love my sister.

I finished hanging up the last of my clothes, finally. Everything in the house had already been settled, for the most part. Mom was working on taking the wallpaper down in the rooms and fixing certain things up. I think she was just using work as a way to keep away from Dad for a while. I could never ask about it though. Violet knocked lightly on my door, but let herself. She could be around me whenever she wanted, I never cared. "Did you run into the blonde anymore after lunch today?"

She lay back on the bed, "Not today, but I think we'll see them again."

I smile a bit and move to sit next to her, playing with her short, golden hair. She inherited it from Mom, and Dad gave me his brunette. I don't mind being so different from her, not too much. She's taller by a couple inches, my hair is longer, her facial features are softer, I'm a year younger, but our minds are equally unpleasant. "Did you hear that?"

"Hm?"

She runs out of the room and I follow her to the open attic door. She offers to climb up first and I hide behind her when I follow. "Holy shit."

It's a full body rubber suit, complete with riggings and chains and hooks. Kinky, but I never found this sort of thing to be very attractive. Even Violet probably couldn't pull that off. Mom gave Violet a sly smirk and turned back to Dad, "Get that thing out of here."

Evenings around the house were boring for the most part. We'd failed to make any friends and aside from the annoyance of the two required English classes, school had failed to provide any significance. Most days were spent listening to music or sleeping. I'd taken a new interest in Dad's office and often spent time sitting outside the door and listening to the conversations he carried out with his patients. Dad took patients from all sides of the spectrum – depressed, suicidal, homicidal, lonely, mentally disturbed – if you had it, he'd treat it, or at least attempt to. He'd recently acquired a high school student in Violet's grade, but a dropout apparently so we had no need to worry. "These fantasies started two years ago," Dad started, "three years ago?"

"_Two years_."

I heard Dad shuffling in his chair "Is there a structure to the thoughts - a pattern?"

"_It's always the same, it starts the same way_."

"How?"

"_I prepare for the noble war. I get a taste for the bloodletting and I pack up my weapons of mass destruction."_

"Guns?"

"_Obviously_."

I smirk. This guy was sassy as hell.

"And then?"

"_I'm walking through the halls, I'm calm, I have the secret, I know what's coming and I know no one can stop me, including myself_."

"Do you target people who have been unkind?"

"_No, I kill people I like_."

"Do you feel sympathy?"

"_No, I'm helping them. Some of them beg for their life, but I don't feel sad, I don't feel anything. It's a filthy world we live in, a filthy goddamned helpless world, and honestly? I feel I'm taking them away from all the shit and piss and vomit that runs in the streets, you know? I'm helping to take them somewhere clean and silent and kind_."

I'd never heard someone so passionate towards a cause before, not like this. People want equal rights and free water and lifetime supplies of chocolates. I've heard of people taking themselves away, but never as an excuse for murder, if you could call it that.

"_The Indians believed that blood holds all the bad spirits, they would cut themselves once a month in ceremonies, let the spirits go free. There's something smart about that, very smart. I like that_."

Dad didn't say anything for a couple minutes. I imagined him writing notes down on his tablet or giving his patient that intense thinking look he always gives me when I leave after dinner.

"_Do you think I'm crazy_?"

I felt the session ending so I decided to get up from my sitting position and get away before one of them spotted me and I got in trouble again. Patient confidentiality was never one of my stronger respects, and the new house maid Moira had walked past a few times already. She was already waiting at the end of the hallway to clean Dad's office, I guess. I nodded to her, "Good 'morrow, Mosey!"

She gave me another one of her dirty looks, "It's illegal for you to be spying on your father's appointments, Miss."

"Where's the fun in that?" I shrugged, "Besides, I would have missed out on his new patient! A very interesting character, indeed."

"Florence," Ben called from downstairs.

I screamed my reply and ran down the steps to meet him, "What's up?"

"I know you were outside my door the other day when I was with a patient."

I kept walking towards the kitchen, waving a hand at him.

"If anyone finds out, I could lose my license. This is very serious, don't ignore me!"

"Ben," Mom gave a pointed look to him then back to Moira, "This is Moira O' Hara, she was the last owner's housekeeper. Actually, she's been here for years!"

I raised an eyebrow; Moira's been working in the house since the day we got here. I was in my room and she just walked in with an armful of natural cleaning supplies and started to it. I just left. Maybe Dad's been too busy to meet her?

"Nice to meet you Moira."

Dad reaches over to shake her hand, but there's something off about the way he looks at her. I just wave at Mom and walk out without being noticed by Dad.

I knew my favourite patient had made another appointment for the same time a week later, but I wanted to take Violet with me this time. We both normally enjoyed listening to these sorts of things. In a sick way, we related to them. After a little bit of coaxing, she followed me down and we sat on either side of the glass doors making faces at each other and trying not to laugh while we waited for dad to set up his things so they could begin the session. "You should look," She mouthed, "See what he looks like."

I simply smile back and move closer to the edge of the door. I look over and see that the patient is staring right at me. He knows where I am, and he looks vaguely familiar. Like a sort of ghost of a person in the back of your mind. Reminds you of something, or someone. Violet looks and seems equally shocked he could spot us so quickly but something else is bothering her about the patient; I can tell.

"Are you taking the medications?"

"_Yes_."

"Thoughts of suicide?"

"_Not lately. I met somebody_."

I could feel his eyes again, focused on the back of my skull

_Me?_

"I-I've got to go." Violet leaves abruptly.

I nod, not really compelled to follow her. The patient was whirling around through my head. Where had I seen him before? I know we had met somehow, or it he just looked like someone else, had a familiar face. I only reacted to anything when I heard Dad and the patient move to leave the room. I hopped up and leant against the wall, cellphone out like I was texting. Dad sighed and pointed the patient towards the door. "You have to stop doing this," He gesticulated, throwing his hands up in the air, "What if he goes and tells his mom you were sitting in without consent? She's our neighbor for Christ's sake!"

"Our neighbor?" I intrigued.

Dad rolled his eyes, "The next time I catch you out here at the end of a session, and there will be consequences."

I sighed, "You're right. I'm sorry; I don't normally do this, just really bored."

I walked off down the hallway, hearing Dad's move down the other direction.

"_Hey_!" I heard a corner of the room whisper.

I looked over; it was the patient.

"H-hi", I stammered.

"We've met before," He started, "When you came to see the house?"

"Oh!" I smiled lightly, "You're the kid who told me not to move here!"

"Yeah, "He grinned, "I'm Tate."

"Florence," I shook his hand lightly, "But everyone calls me Flo."

Tate was handsome. He was tall and blonde, with a round cherub face and the smooth-talking voice of a cult-leader. He seemed kind, but tortured as evident from his sessions with my father. And we were a lot alike.

I lay with my head hanging off the side of the bed while he sat there, shuffling through my laptop's media player. He seemed mostly interested in 90's music, and was a huge fan of Nirvana and Kurt Cobain. They kind of looked alike, just a bit. "I've noticed your sister cuts," It wasn't a scold, just a comment, observation.

"Yeah," I rolled up my own sleeve, "We all have our coping mechanisms."

He rolled up his own sweater sleeve to reveal a mirage of different scars. It looked like someone had taken a blade over and over and over again in some spots. "What are they for," I inquired.

"This one I did when my dad first left," He pointed to a long faded scar, "I was ten I think. This one a year later. New school; got beat up."

"These are from when my Ex cheated on me," I pointed to a crisscrossing on my arm and then pulled up my as far as they would go, "And these are from high school."

It was a collection of words I'd heard people use to describe me in the halls of my old school; ugly, fat, demented, alone, evil, conceited, vain. . .

"I guessed you weren't just a one-problem girl."

I grinned, "You are smart."

He took a second and then suddenly looked really interested, "Can you take off your sweater?"

I feel oddly comfortable around him, and I was wearing a tank top under it anyway so I move to take it off. I see Tate watching but close my eyes when the fabric moves over my head. When I open them again and the sweater is off, he's gone. I sigh and toss the sweater into the corner of the room and fall back onto the bed. I wasn't looking for just a couple of seconds. Maybe he needed an excuse to leave and was too polite to say so.

The next Monday, Violet and I are walking outside the lunchroom. She's smoking again, but I can't bring myself to care. I haven't been able to stop thinking about Tate since I last saw him. But, those girls are probably around here somewhere. "I told you not to smoke out here," Leah and her posse walk over.

Violet isn't in the mood to take anyone's shit and I can't really blame her, "What's your problem, bitch?"

"She just call me a bitch?" All of Leah's 'friends' respond positively.

"Seriously. Mommy drink too much? Daddy love your brother more? Your uncle play with your titties when you were a kid? I'm not scared of you."

By now they'd attracted a small crowd and we heard a few giggled and comment being passed around.

"You should be," was the brilliant comeback.

Out of nowhere, Violet grabs Leah and bashes her up against a concrete wall, knocking the wind from her adversary's lungs. A larger group comes 'round to see what's going on and I can't help but grin proudly. I don't have much time though, because Becca and Abby realize the pack leader's distress and go after my big sister. I quickly roll up my sleeves and grab the two by their collars, being strong enough to at least catch them off guard. I land a weak punch to Becca's stomach before Abby pushes me into a table. Leah screams in pain and frustration and they're distracted enough to allow Violet and I to make our grand escape again.

I manage to make it pass mom when we get home, but Violet's gash on her forehead gets extra treatment so I just make it upstairs to start on homework. I open the door and jump – Tate's sitting on my floor, laptop in use. He grins and stands up to meet me, "Did I scare you?"

I laugh, "Tate Langdon, you couldn't scare a fawn."

I threw my bag on the bed and sat. My hand was sore and I couldn't help but lament my own weakness. Tate walks over and kneels in front of me, grabbing one of my wrists. His hand was so large in comparison, it nearly wrapped around twice. "You're really thin."

I smiled sarcastically, "_Thanks_."

His hand traces up my forearm to my side, then down to my long sweater. It rolls under his finger and his other hand joins the task of lifting the sweater over my head. I didn't wear anything underneath today, too hot. "So many ribs. . ."

I looked over myself, and it was true. You could see a definition of nearly every bone in my body. Weight distribution had left a fair amount of fat on my face, but it was clear now, looking at my torso. He traced the collarbones and marveled at the ribs for some time. "Don't you worry about dying, sometimes?"

I laugh under my breath and look up at him, "I don't care anymore."

The door opens suddenly to reveal Violet's bandaged and suddenly confused face, "Um. . .sorry?"

"You're fine," I half-smile, "What's up?"

Tate moves to sit on the bed and I put my sweater back on. I'm in no hurry, though.

"I hate her. I want to kill her."

I pull a face while Tate reacts much more positively, "Then do it."

"Tate," I warn, "You don't even know who she's talking about."

"It's that bitch," she hints, "Leah!"

"Oh yeah," I nod, "I think you should do it."

"One less high school bitch in the world making the lives of the less fortunate more tolerable is, in my opinion, a public service," Tate offers simply.

Violet pulls a joint out of nowhere and lights it. I roll my eyes and she gives me an apologetic look before turning to Tate. "No thanks, I'd like to stay pure."

"Why?"

"I want to feel what I'm feeling."

Violet shrugs it off and I half-smile in response.

"Look," Tate leans forward to catch her attention, "you want her to leave you alone? Stop making your life a living hell? Short of killing her, there's only one solution: scare her. Make her afraid of you, that's the only thing bullies react to."

"How?"

"Just say, 'I've got what you want. Come to my house tomorrow, get your free sample'. Something like that. She's a coke head."

"She's a cokehead. . . I don't have coke."

"You won't need it. That's just an excuse to get her here. She'll leave empty handed and terrified and I promise you, you'll never be bothered by her again."

I decide not to go to their scare-fest the next day. I freak out way too easily and I'm just not interested in seeing that chick's face for any reason, anytime soon. I'd heard she'd dropped out of school or something. Violet had already hung out with her friends and it made me wonder if things were finally turning around for her.

"Hey, Violet," I open the doors to dad's study, but a look of terror and confusion fills her face.

I look around the room and beside her on the desk is one of dad's patient files, Tate's name in the manila envelope. She's on the computer. "Violet, if Dad catches you we're both dead."

She just sat there and looked back at the computer screen. I slowly walk over, afraid to see if she's found anything on Tate, on the patient. _"Student Takes Own Life After High School Massacre", _documented in 1994, the year Violet was born.

Tate died eighteen years ago.


End file.
